Humdrum
by SilverStarsAndMoons
Summary: Derek comes home late again and Addison's PMSing. A short, sharp oneshot about fighting and making up when you're a couple on the rocks. AddisonDerek.


**Humdrum**

"Where were you?"

The question is simple, but Derek hesitates, anyway. "At work. Where else would I be?"

"This late? Did you have a late surgery? I really wish you would call." Addison's voice is sharp and she's clutching a blanket to her chest, which is always a bad sign. Derek walks into the trailer, pauses at the threshold of the door. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Derek, I'm okay. I'm always okay. You know, I made shrimp scampi tonight. I went to the store, bought fresh seafood and all the ingredients, and then I came home and followed a recipe. A recipe, Derek. And you had a late surgery."

Addison's defeated and she's crampy; she's tired of always being the one waiting for Derek. They're both surgeons and she has late surgeries, but she never forgets to call. She can leave a load of laundry in the dryer for days, leaving absent-minded Derek looking for his favourite pair of black socks; she can forget to put her shoes away and then Derek trips on them; she can leave her laptop on and then in the middle of the night, they're awakened by the ping of her email, but she never forgets to call when she's got to stay late and Derek suddenly feels tired of constantly being in the doghouse when all of her sins are washed clean, all the time.

"I hate it when you're like this," he mutters, and her blue eyes widen. She tosses her red hair, recently straightened, over her shoulders. "What did you say?"

He looks up, looks her straight in the face. "I hate it when you're like this." He's running a risk, but he doesn't care. He's just been through a ten-hour surgery and he's tired, dammit, and she always bitches at him.

"Yeah? Well, I hate it when you don't call."

"I hate it when you get anal about things like recipes. You enjoy cooking; don't pretend it's some big sacrifice."

"I hate it when you're absent-minded and leave your clothes lying on the floor, even when you know where the laundry hamper is, Derek; even when you can see the washer across this room!" She stands up, still clutching the blanket, her eyes flashing.

He tosses his coat on the banquette, just to piss her off. "I hate it when you're a nagging, scolding, bitchy wife!"

"I hate it when you're an emotionally unavailable, cold, distant, jerk of a husband!" Her voice is getting hysterical, but after two months of trying to be careful around each other, this actually feels really good. She gets up in his face and he pushes her away.

"God, I hate how you smell when you're on your period."

Her face freezes. "I don't smell."

"Yes, you do. It's just off-putting; it's not like you're unclean or anything." He knows he's gone too far now, because her face is crumpling and her hands are going up to her eyes, and he belatedly remembers that she told him at lunchtime that she had a complicated surgery that afternoon.

"Addie? How did the surgery go?" His voice is careful and she looks up, her face twisted and almost ugly, even though she's probably the most beautiful woman he's ever seen ninety percent of the time.

"I lost them both, Derek. And I hurt, and I'm bleeding, and now you tell me I smell . . ." Her voice is foggy and he puts his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm a huge asshole," he whispers, "and you're beautiful and you don't smell."

She sobs heartbrokenly against his chest for a moment, because this is what they do. They fight and she cries for a minute, and then they're fine.

And sure enough, a minute later, she pulls away and he wipes her tears away with his thumbs, and kisses her nose, and she gives him a watery smile.

"I'm sorry that I was late and didn't call. And that I leave clothes on the floor and that I don't come home in time for dinner."

"I'm sorry I'm a scolding wife who can't leave well enough alone."

He smiles at her. "Got some of that shrimp stuff left?"

She sniffles, tries to smile. "It's probably cold now."

"Well, that's what ovens are for. And I want to tell you about my surgery, and then sit outside under the stars, and kiss you until your lips turn red and swollen."

"I have a headache."

"Shut up."

They both laugh and he spoons shrimp scampi into her mouth, and not another word is said about period smells, clothes on the floor, or calling when you're late, because sometimes, all you need is a glass of wine and to laugh until you cry.


End file.
